I feel a little strange.
As if I were thawing out.
I don’t know who I am when I meet another.
I can’t fit into my past life, as if my clothes don’t work for me anymore.
I thought I was fine, until I open my eyes and see what they see.
Am I crazy?
I can’t relate…to anyone.
Nothing little exists. It’s all ‘biggies’ it feels, nowadays.
Where am I in this space?
I just want to move – inside of it.
All warm and comfy, my sacred union with myself letting down the curtains of my mind. Desiring a long intermission. I want snacks but with no company. I want to lick the salt off my fingers no matter if it’s from the food or my tears.
I want to exist in space. And the only way I know how, is to be in my own space. Yet, I have nothing that I own. Even my space.
I want a balcony.
I want grass, snow, yard space.
I want my feet to be bare and choose their own choices instead of ruled by concrete and rubber.
And someday, I will have this.
And will I then want what I had?
Will I miss the space in which I could touch everything at once?
Will I miss the proximity to convenience?
Will I miss the faces and daily conversations regardless of if we wanted it?
Will I miss, saying, “I’ll be there in 30 seconds” and it’s true?
My highest good and suffering play their parts. I play an emerging participant being led by the great divine, while silently screaming.
And then I accept, “I need to be and have my own space”.
I’m eager for my own reunion of one.